


Puppy Love - Werewolf AU

by Donotquestionme



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M, Vampire AU, Werewolf AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-30 17:08:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12113322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donotquestionme/pseuds/Donotquestionme
Summary: A collection of short drabbles set in my werewolf!au. Not in chronological order.





	1. Fuzzy Reception

Marianne saw Bog duck out of the pew and into the hall of the church just as the couple were saying their vows. She discreetly followed him out.

She could have followed him completely silently, but she let her footsteps be heard so she wouldn’t alarm him.

“Argh!” Bog growled, pulling as his necktie. “I’m coming out of my skin here! How much longer will this take?”

“Yeah, ask me. I’m sure I know all about weddings around here,” Marianne quipped.

“It was rhetorical,” Bog said with a snarl. “I mean, I just wish…”

He shook himself out and fur sprung up around his neck, face, and on the back of his hands. His ears grew long and pointed and sprouted fur of their own.

“…That they hadn’t picked a date so close to the full moon,” he griped.

Pulling at his collar, Bog revealed more fur running down his chest. He worked his jaw for a moment as his teeth grew out to sharp fangs.

“Hey be careful!” Marianne warned. “Anyone could walk by!”

“Just give me a second,” Bog said. “I’ve been keeping this up for hours and it’s only three days until the full moon. I need a minute to relax. Keep lookout won’t you, Miss ‘superhuman hearing’?”

“Don’t relax too much, you’ll tear through that nice suit of yours.”

“Ugh. It’d be fitting. I look ridiculous enough as it is. They don’t make suits to fit pine trees.”

“Hmm, I’ve always thought of you more of a dogwood.”

Bog growled low at Marianne.

“Kidding. And besides,”

Marianne took a step close to him.

“I think you look dashing.”

Bog’s ears perked up and he flushed.

“R..really?” he said. “It’s not…too much?”

“Just enough. Though I’ve always thought you looked better in fur than wool.”

Bog flushed harder.

“It…it’s polyester, actually,” he said, looking breaking eye contact.

“What?”

“It’s…never mind. Human world stuff.”

“Of course. You know it’s a shame it’s not wool, though.”

“Why’s that?”

“Then you’d be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Bog let out a sound that was between a growl and a groan.

“You know I’d make a ‘blood of Christ’ joke but I know it would go over your head,” he hissed.

“I’m sure you’ll get your revenge somehow,” Marianne said.

She took another step toward him and cupped his face, guiding him to look her in the eye.

The flush returned to Bog’s cheeks and he cleared his throat, nervously.

“Yeah, I’ll find some way.”

Marianne ran her hand through Bog’s hair and he shivered.

“Marianne…” he breathed.

Then she scratched him behind his ear.

Bog made a funny sort of yelping sound and his foot thumped against the ground.

“S-stop that! Stop that! STOP that!” he cried, prying Marianne’s hand away from his head. “You absolutely _wicked_ woman.”

He snarled at her, fangs bared, and she bared her own fangs back at him.

Then suddenly, the door to the hallway they were in started to open.

Marianne looked quickly towards Bog, who managed to pull back his transformation just in time for whoever it was coming through the door to peek through.

Bog let out a sigh of relief when he saw it was just his mother.

“If you two lovebirds don’t stop kanoodling and get back in here,” Griselda said. “You’re going to miss the kiss!”

“We weren’t—” Bog sputtered. “I just needed a time out.”

“Will you be okay for the rest of the ceremony and the reception?” Griselda asked.

“I think so. As long as I can duck out once or twice.”

“Alright,” Griselda said, then smirked. “Just remember not bring the bouquet back to the bride when she throws it.”

“Agh! Not you too!” Bog cried.

Griselda chucked and ushered the two back into the main room just in time to see the “I do”s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick drabble for fun set in an AU where Bog is a werewolf and Marianne is a vampire. Marianne is from a world where that stuff is commonplace and vampire and werewolves are known to be good friends. Bog is from the human world but got dragged into Marianne’s world when he got turned into a werewolf. He can visit the human world now, though.  
> The werewolves of this world are more or less wolf-like depending on the phase of the moon. They get more and more wolfish as the moon waxes until they’re full wolf on the full moon, then less and less wolfish as the moon wanes, until they’re fully human on the new moon. They can force themselves to be fully human on days that aren’t the new moon, but it requires practice and discipline and gets much harder the closer it is to the full moon.


	2. Making 'Fetch' Happen

Bog’s ears flicked back and forth in an irritated manner. His tail twitched agitatedly.

He scratched at his neck for the hundredth time but it didn’t relieve the crawling sensation in his skin. Rolling his shoulders, he tried to settle himself but the restlessness that plagued him would not be quieted.

It was two days until the full moon still, but his body was acting like it was in only a few hours.  He wanted to run. Run until he was truly exhausted. He wanted to feel his heart race in his chest, to feel his lungs burn with exhilaration. He wanted to let loose. He wanted…

He wanted to Shift.

Bog ground his teeth together.

Yes, that was it, wasn’t it? That’s what he really wanted to do.

Werewolves could Shift to their wolf forms at any time, not just on the full moon, though it was harder to call out that side of themselves the closer to the new moon it grew and not even the most experienced and dedicated of werewolves could make themselves Shift on the night of the new moon itself.

Many werewolves spent a lot of time in the days leading up the full moon Shifted. The wolf side of the grew restless as the moon grew fuller and it was a relief to let it out for a while. It would have been the simple solution to his problem. Except…

Except Bog couldn’t Shift.

He did on the full moon, of course, when there was no controlling it, but he couldn’t make himself take his fully wolf form at will at any other time.  He’d tried, but to no avail.

“You’re just too tense!” Thang had said. “You need to relax!”

“How am I supposed to relax when I feel like the inside of my skin is itching?” Bog had retorted. “Besides, what do you know? You’re a goblin, not a werewolf.”

“Hmph.” Thang huffed. “Goblins are knowledgeable in many things. There’s nothing a bit of Goblish cunning can’t solve.”

“I guess the whole ‘cunning’ gene skipped you,” Bog quipped.

“Just try taking a deep breath,” Stuff suggested.

Bog did as instructed. He tried to relax, to let go. The change wanted to happen, he just had to somehow _let_ it.

But it was no use.

“Try getting down on all fours,” Thang said.

Bog gave him a look.

“He’s serious,” Stuff said. “It might help.”

Face hot, Bog had gotten down on his hands and knees.

“Think wolfish thoughts!” Thang said.

Bog’s face burned with embarrassment.

“This is stupid,” he said.  

“It’s that kind of thinking that’s why you can’t shift,” Stuff said. “As long as you’re embarrassed by your wolf side, you’ll always be holding it back.”

“Maybe Turnies like Bog just can’t Shift.” Thang said.

Stuff jabbed him in the ribs.

“I’m sure they can!” she insisted, but Bog wasn’t entirely convinced.

Bog was a turned werewolf, someone who’d become a werewolf later in life, as opposed to being born as one. ‘Turnies’ as they were sometimes called, were almost unheard of in modern times and no one knew exactly what to expect of him because of it. It was obvious his wolf form on full moons was more rambunctious and out of control than other wolves, but they didn’t know if that was because he was turned or simply because he was so unused to Shifting, having not grown up doing so.

Some people were wary him, believing stories that turned werewolves were feral, dangerous creatures. Others were intently interested in him, prodding him with questions upon questions that he had no answers for.

In the present, Bog continued to grind his teeth together, fangs scraping against each other.  His fingers fiddled with the Shift pedant that he’d been given. It was a chunk of amber colored stone that magicked away a werewolf’s clothes when they shifted, then magicked them back when they returned to human form. It had barely seen any use with Bog, naturally.

Bog’s ears perked as they heard a noise behind him. Turning, he saw a familiar face.

Marianne, the young vampire woman he’d grown familiar with over the last two months stood behind him.

Immediately Bog felt more at ease. Some of the tension and itchiness faded as she took a step closer to him. They really hadn’t been kidding when they said that vampires had a positive effect on werewolves. He’d taken to Marianne embarrassingly quickly. After hearing about how fast vampires and werewolves tended to bond, he’d been somewhat determined not to be a cliché, but it had been little use.

He just felt instantly more comfortable with her around, safer, calmer, more content. From almost the moment they’d met. They hardly spent any time apart anymore.

“Marianne,” Bog said.

“You wandered off. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fine. Just…restless.”

“Still can’t Shift?”

“I wish I didn’t have to!” Bog growled. “It’s stupid! The full moon’s not for another two days why can’t the stupid wolf in me just be patient?”

“It’s not a wolf _in_ you, Bog. It _is_ you.” Marianne corrected.

“Maybe it isn’t for turned wolves. Maybe it’s just a curse that takes me over once a month. Maybe…maybe I can’t Shift on my own.”

Bog rubbed his hands up and down his arms, ruffling the fur that grew there.

“I’m sure you can!” Marianne reassured him.

She sat in the grass next to him, staring out over the small hill they sat on and into the open field ahead of them, and gestured for Bog to sit beside her.

He sat, careful not to sit on his own tail, as he’d done too many times before.

“It just seems like there’s so many things I can’t do. I can’t make myself look human, even on the days close to the new moon. I almost completely lose myself on the full moon. I just don’t have any control.”

Bog picked up a rock and absentmindedly tossed it down the hill. 

Marianne tossed a rock down as well, watching it bounce a few times before coming to a stop.

“Even born wolves have a hard time with looking human. It takes training and time. You can’t expect to master it instantly.”

Bog said nothing, rolling another rock down the hill.

“And you’ve only Shifted three times in your whole life. It’s normal for wolves to get carried away on the full moon even when they’ve been Shifting since they were born.”

Bog growled, but smirked.

“Why do you have to be so reasonable?” he said, picking a small stick off the ground and tossing it down the hill.

Marianne shrugged.

“One of us has to be,” she said, and picked up a larger stick and hefted it down the hill.

Suddenly Bog lurched forward as he fought the intense urge to get to his feet.

He forced himself back.

“What…was _that?_ ” he asked.

What had come over him? He’d seen her throw the stick and suddenly he’d been overwhelmed by the desire to get up. To chase it. To—

“AaaaAAAAAAARRRHHH!!!” Bog cried. He stood abruptly and paced in a circle, pulling at his hair.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Marianne asked, suddenly concerned.

“I wanted to…to…” Bog began, but couldn’t seem to make himself complete the sentence.

“To _what?”_ Marianne pressed.

“I wanted to catch the stick and bring it back to you!” Bog moaned.

“Oh!” Marianne said, sounding relieved. “I thought something was wrong. You just want to play fetch.”

“Don’t say it so nonchalantly!” Bog snapped. “I’m so…I can’t believe…ARGH!”

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s _wrong?!”_ Bog sputtered. “I want to play bloody _fetch_ is what’s wrong!”

His face was beet red and his ears were pressed back against his head.

“What’s wrong with that? Werewolves play fetch all the time. It’s normal.”

“It’s something that _dogs_ do!”

“So? Dog’s eat. Dog’s sleep. Dogs play. So does everyone. Everything.”

“I don’t eat like a dog. I don’t sleep like a dog. I shouldn’t want to play like a dog!” Bog spat.

“But you do?”

“I…I…AAAAAARRRRRHHHH!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s like being embarrassed about playing catch or tag or something.”

“But it _isn’t!_ ” Bog insisted. “Humans play catch, humans play tag. Humans do not ‘fetch’. Dogs ‘fetch’.”

“You’re not human,” Marianne reminded him.

“Well I’m not a dog, either,” Bog grumbled.

“If it makes you feel better, humans play fetch here too sometimes. It’s not at all unusual to see a group of human and werewolf children playing fetch together.”

“Well…I’m not a child…” Bog said under his breath, folding his arms.

Marianne stood and picked up another stick off the ground.

“Just try it,” she said. “You may feel better.”

Bog avoided her eye contact.

“For me?”

Bog looked up at Marianne’s pleading eyes and felt something in his chest go soft.

“Is there any way we can frame it where it doesn’t seem like fetch?” Bog relented.

Marianne beamed.

“Well, if you catch it before it hits the ground and throw it back to me, it’ll be more like catch,” she said.

Bog grumbled a bit more, then sighed in defeat.

“Fiiiine,” he said.

“How far do you want me to throw it?” Marianne asked.

Bog was tempted to ask her to barely throw it at all to reduce the chance of someone seeing him, but it would defeat the purpose to keep holding back.

“As far as you can,” he answered truthfully.

“I can throw pretty far,” Marianne warned, smirking.

Bog grinned as well, sensing her challenge.

“I can run pretty far,” he said.

“Alright,” Marianne said. “Ready?”

Bog got into a sprinter’s starting stance, hands just touching the ground. He was embarrassed how excited he was becoming about this, how fast his heart was starting to beat.

“Ready,” he said.

Without another word, Marianne chucked the stick forward, hurling it through the air with incredible speed.

Bog took off at a sprint after it, letting his compulsion to chase and retrieve propel him forward. It felt good to run, to get some of that pent-up energy out. As long as he didn’t think about what he was doing, at least.

He caught up to the stick with ease and caught it as in arched towards the ground. He turned back towards Marianne and jumped in surprise.

He’d run nearly halfway across the huge field and had barely even noticed! Running had never been his strong suit as a human, but it seemed that werewolves had a knack for it.

It was far too far for him to toss the stick back to Marianne so he would have to run it at least part of the way back. But, maybe if he only jogged, it wouldn’t feel so much like retrieving.

He jogged back within throwing distance of Marianne. It was incredible just how far he’d run and at what a speed. Jogging back took a few minutes, compared to the seconds it had taken him to run. Once he was close enough, Bog chucked the stick back at Marianne at full force.

Marianne caught it, bringing it to a dead stop without even a recoil.

 She smirked.

“Not too bad,” she said.

“’Not too bad’ she says,” Bog said in a sardonic tone.  “You went easy on me,”

“I didn’t want to embarrass you,” Marianne said, tone teasingly coy. “Besides, it took forever for you to get back. I’d be bored to tears waiting for you if I really threw it.”

Bog snarled playfully.

“Try me,” he said, exposing his fangs.

Marianne grinned back.

She waited for him to get back into position, then reeled back and threw the stick with super human speed.

Bog took off after it again, this time having a bit harder time keeping up with it. His heart was pounding in his chest and it felt fantastic. His legs and lungs burned with exhilaration. It was a challenge now and one he intended to meet.

He caught the stick, and barely losing any momentum, he turned on his heel and took off back towards Marianne.

His heart swelled with competitive pride when he saw a slight look of surprise at just how fast he’d gotten back grace Marianne’s features for a just a moment before she suppressed it.

Bog was panting heavily now but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel out of breath.

“You’re still holding back,” he said. His voice sounded deeper, rougher.

“So are you,” Marianne returned.

Bog grinned, dare-he-say _wolfishly_ and returned to his sprinter’s pose.

This time, Marianne took a few steps back, then took a running start, flinging the stick with incredible speed.

Bog was already after it by the time it left her hand.

Running felt so good. Running, catching, retrieving, running again. Letting go, forgetting his embarrassment, embracing his instincts. It felt _wonderful._

A warm feeling spread out from Bog’s chest into his limbs, all the way down to his fingers and toes. A warm, wild energy that burned within him and filled up every inch of him.

The stick was moving faster than any of the times before. Fast enough that he was losing ground on it. But he wouldn’t lose. He’d win!

Following a sudden compulsion, Bog took a running leap into the air—

And came down on four paws, still in full sprint.

He bounded through the grass of the field, legs eating up the distance between him and the stick.

The feeling of Shifting, of running while Shifted, was intoxicating. And without the full moon driving him mad, he felt so in control, so free. He understood it now, what had been holding him back. That shame over what he was that had made him cling to his human form even when the rest of him begged to shed it. That shame that now felt like a distant memory. But he couldn’t focus on that. He still had to win!

With a bounding leap, Bog leapt into the air and caught the stick in his mouth, without a hint of embarrassment at what he was doing, only freedom and exhilaration.

He dashed back to Marianne, who was beaming, and dropped the stick at her feet. He sat down in front of her, chest swelling with pride.

“You did it!” Marianne exclaimed. “You did it!”

He _had_ done it! He’d Shifted! He _could_ do it! He could do it and it was incredible! Amazing! Fantastic! _He_ was incredible! Amazing! FANTASTIC!

Panting and beaming himself, Bog jumped up onto Marianne, all but knocking her to the ground.

Marianne ruffled his thick fur, stroking his head and scratching behind his ears.

Oh, that felt _wonderful._

Marianne hugged him and Bog felt overwhelmed with joy.

He was wonderful! She was wonderful!

He loved her! He _loved_ her!

Suddenly, Bog went completely still. His whole body shuddered and he wormed out of Marianne’s embrace.

His limbs stretched and thickened, popping almost painfully back into their human shape. Paws turned to hand and feet and snout sunk back into nose and mouth. The thick fur covering his body retreated back to his normal, two days before the full moon amount, and his clothes reappeared on his now humanoid body.

“Bog?” Marianne said, her smile fading. “Is everything alright?”

“I…I just…” Bog stammered, then pulled himself together. “I’m fine. Just, uh…getting used to it.”

“Okay well…you did it!” Marianne said, her smile returning. “I knew you could!”

“Heh…yeah,” Bog huffed, trying to force a smile back onto his face, but he was too shaken by his sudden and unexpected thought.

_‘He loved her!’_

“Why don’t you go back to the group,” Bog said, trying to drown out the thought. “I’ll be right there. Just need to…catch my breath.”

Marianne looked unsure but sensed Bog’s genuine desire to be alone and left back into the woods behind them and towards the rest of the pack.

‘ _He loved her! He loved her!’_

The words kept repeating in Bog’s mind. He’d never pieced it together before. All the time he spent with her, the way she soothed and calmed him, how good he felt in her presence…

Could it really be love?

But no…no! It couldn’t be!

He’d been a dog! He’d been thinking like a dog! Dogs loved everyone, everything. It was an innocent, harmless emotion, nothing more.

Or, perhaps it had just been the normal bond between werewolves and vampires, mistaken in an excited moment for a deeper emotion.

Yes, that was it. It was nothing. It didn’t have to mean anything.

But the words wouldn’t stop repeating in his mind.

‘ _He loved her! He_ loved _her!’_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Werewolf!AU drabble. Set a while before “Fuzzy Reception” before Bog found a way to visit the human world again and was trapped in Marianne’s world.


	3. A Shift in Perspective

“So, what should I expect? For my first time, I mean,” Bog asked, nervously running his hands up and down his arms.

It was only a few minutes now until the full moon, Bog’s first since becoming a werewolf. He would Shift for the first time into his fully wolf form. The concept was frightening to him and he had no idea what to expect.

“I…don’t really know what to tell you,” Caleb said. “The first time I Shifted I was only ten days old. I’ve been Shifting since as long as I can remember.”

“Great,” Bog said dryly.

“I guess it can be a little overwhelming, especially for young wolves,” Caleb offered.

“Overwhelming?” Bog asked. “How so?”

Caleb thought for a moment how to best explain it.

“A werewolf’s wolf side is kind of like…an energy within them that’s connected to the energy of the moon. Shifting, on the full moon or otherwise, is letting that energy out, letting it take you over and shape your body. On the full moon, it fills you up whether you want it to or not until it’s almost overflowing. That energy can be overwhelming, drive you a little crazy.”

“Oh good,” Bog said.

He took a deep breath.

“Will it… hurt?” he asked.

“It doesn’t usually, but I don’t know how it is for Turnies,” Caleb said. “Listen I’m sorry I’m not more help, it’s just that—”

“That nobody knows anything about turned wolves,” Bog finished.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Caleb reassured him. “I’ll hold off on Shifting as long as I can to talk you through it.”

“Yeah…thanks,” Bog said.

He was more nervous about this than he wanted to admit. It seemed like it was no big deal to werewolves around here, but all Bog could think of was the horrific transformations of werewolves in Hollywood films. And there seemed to be so much mystery surrounding turned werewolves that there was no telling what could happen.

Caleb checked the time on his pocket watch.

“Alright. Here we go. The moon should be coming over the tree line any second now.” he said. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Bog said, truthfully. “But I don’t think I get a choice.”

Bog held his breath and looked towards the top of the trees.

After a few tense seconds, a rim of white silver peeked over the tips of the treetops.

Bog was…surprisingly unaffected. He’d expected it to hit him like a ton of bricks, but it hadn’t. He felt only as though a warm, tingly feeling was spreading out from his chest.

He made to turn to Caleb and comment on his lack of reaction, but suddenly became aware of the fact that he could not tear his eyes away from the sliver of moon visible above the trees. He couldn’t move at all. Couldn’t even blink. A brief moment of panic overtook him and he tried to break free of his transfixion, but it was no use. His eyes only grew wider and his breathing deeper.

The feeling in his chest grew stronger, turning from tingling to skin crawling, from warm to burning. And yet, it didn’t hurt. It…actually felt _nice._

Bog’s heart started pounding in his chest.

Better than nice. It felt _fantastic._

Suddenly a giggle worked its way up Bog’s throat. Followed by a chuckle, then a full laugh, then a bout of uncontrollable, hysteric laugher.

Bog fell to his knees as he laughed and laughed and laughed. His stomach and lungs burned but he couldn’t stop.

“Bog?” Caleb said, concerned. “Bog are you alright?”

But Bog couldn’t answer, he was too overwhelmed with cacophonous, almost shrieking laughter. Tears poured down his face as laughs continued to wrack his body.

The feeling in his chest had spread to every part of him, pounding along with his heartbeat. A crazed energy that pulsed through him, begging to be let out.

Bog was doubled over now and Caleb put a hand on his shoulder.

“Bog, what’s happening?”

Bog, even through his fit of laughter, could hear the fear in Caleb’s voice. This was wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.

Bog’s laughs started to shift and change, turning into almost barking yelps. He felt his body shifting as well. His arms stretched and thinned, his fingers curled into large paws, and he could feel his ears traveling up to the top of his head. His face stretched out into a long snout.

He barely noticed as his clothes vanished off of his body, being pulled into the Shift pendant, too distracted by the feeling of his spine shifting and popping into a different shape.

It hurt and Bog knew he should be scared, terrified, but he couldn’t bring himself to be. How could anything wrong feel so right?

Bog could feel his legs stretching, twisting, _shifting_. His teeth ached as they moved around in his mouth.

Finally, the fit of barking laughter released him and he panted for breath. The crawling of his skin calmed, but the feeling of tingling energy coursing through him only seemed to grow.

He needed to let it out.

\-----

Caleb was relieved when Bog stopped laughing. The sudden onset of his hysterics had frightened Caleb. He’d never seen someone be overtaken with laughter while Shifting. Caleb was more worried about Bog than he’d really let on. Shifting for the first time at thirty-five years old? He couldn’t imagine it. His own body was so used to Shifting, it was second nature to him. But to Bog it would be something entirely foreign.

It seemed however, that everything had gone fine, despite the worrying laughter. Bog had Shifted completely into a large, dark brown wolf. Impressively large given Bog’s relatively young age. Not the stockiest of specimens, but taller than most any wolf that Caleb knew. Caleb noticed that Bog had retained his bright, blue eyes through his transformation. Such a thing was very rare, most werewolves having brown or yellowish eyes when Shifted.

The pull of the moon was growing stronger, begging Caleb to surrender to it, but he held back.

“So?” he asked Bog. “How was it? Are you alright?”

Naturally Bog wouldn’t be able to respond in words as a wolf, but Caleb expected something like a nod or at least some look of recognition, but there was none. Bog just continued to stare directly ahead of him, panting hard, as if he hadn’t even heard Caleb.

“Bog?”

Suddenly, and without warning, Bog took off running.

“Bog, wait!” Caleb shouted after him.

Then, he could contain it no longer. He fell to his knees and Shifted to his wolf form. It only took a moment for him to regain his composure and take off after Bog.

Caleb yelped at Bog, trying to get his attention, but the larger wolf paid him no heed. He bounded into the woods so quickly that Caleb could barely keep up.

Bog weaved effortlessly through the trees with the ease of a wolf who’d grown up in these woods, stopping only for brief moments to sniff the ground before taking off running again.

He ran back and forth through the trees, winding back and forth and yapping occasionally at nothing.

 _Where does he get all this stamina?_ Caleb wondered, starting to grow weary himself. He stopped a moment to rest and collect his thoughts.

It seemed as though Bog had little control over himself, if any. It wasn’t unusual for werewolves to succumb to their wilder instincts during the full moon, and Caleb supposed it was harmless to let him wear himself out a bit.

Then suddenly Bog’s demeanor shifted. He grew very still and quiet. Caleb wondered if he’d finally tired himself out when Bog suddenly took off in a sprint that seemed far more directed than his earlier wandering.

There was a sudden upheaval of leaves and Caleb heard a tiny, high pitched squeal.

His stomach plummeted.

When the dust settled, he could see a limp rabbit hanging from Bog’s jaws.

Caleb barked loudly and Bog looked up at him, his tail thumping back and forth, happily, as if he saw nothing wrong with what he’d just done.

Hunting was certainly something that werewolves did, but it was a sacred and disciplined thing, with rules and traditions. Killing something for the fun of it while out of control was another matter entirely.

With horror, Caleb could see Bog drop his prey in front of him and prepare to eat it.

He tackled Bog to the ground and away from his prize.

To Caleb’s relief, the rabbit had just been stunned and, once Bog was distracted, promptly made its escape.

Bog got to his feet and snarled viciously, his hackles raised. Caleb could see no recognition in his eyes, no humanity and, for a moment, he felt afraid.

Bog lunged at Caleb, still snarling. He snapped at Caleb’s throat and Caleb fell to the ground in surprise. Bog stood over him, growling menacingly then, suddenly, his eyes lost focus and he looked around him as though he’d forgotten where he was or what he was doing.

He seemed to spot Caleb again, on the ground, and bent his front half low and brought his back side up into a playful pose, tail whipping back and forth.

Caleb got to his feet, warily, but all of Bog’s aggression seemed to have been completely forgotten. Bog bounced back and forth on his front paws, then started running off into a random direction again.

Caleb wasn’t sure he could keep up with these kinds of mood swings. One moment, Bog would be aimlessly playing like a puppy, the next he’d be deathly focused, then viciously angry, then back to playful.

The full moon could be overwhelming, it was true, but most werewolves had years to get used to it. Bog was experiencing this for the first time and it seemed to be completely overloading him.  He wondered just what was going on in Bog’s mind.

\----

Fun fun fun.

Things were fun. Very fun.

And exciting.

So very exciting.

The world was a bright, swirling, twirling ball of color and sound and _smells_ Oh so many smells. Bog wanted to take in all of it at once. It was almost frustrating how limited he was. He could only see and hear and taste and smell and touch so much at a time and it wasn’t enough.

He wanted everything!

He’d chase a smell down one path, then a sight would catch his eye and he’d take off after that, then another smell would waft by and he be off in another direction. Everything was fuzzy and bright and overwhelming in the very best of ways.

Until it wasn’t.

Until sometimes everything got real quiet and sharp and everything in him shifted. He’d spot prey and his whole mind would succumb to an inner mantra of _Chase. Catch. Kill. Dismember. Destroy._

But the sharpness was very nice too. He thought be might like it better than the fuzzy brightness. It was grounding and exhilarating.

For some reason, though, he could never seem to get past the “catch” part, as much as he wanted to. Something kept stopping him. Something he couldn’t really puzzle out. Something that made everything go red and angry so very angry until everything was teeth and claws and biting and snapping. Then it was over and back to the fuzzy swirling colors and brightness.

Fuzzy, sharp, red, fuzzy. Colors, smells, blood, fangs, sights, sounds.

It all flowed together in a wild, frantic loop again and again and again.

And it was _wonderful._

\----

The next thing that Bog remembered was being face down in the dirt with someone shaking him awake.

“Bog?” a voice asked, shaking Bog’s shoulder. “Bog are you alright?”

Bog groaned and rolled onto his back. He blinked in the growing light.

“Ca…leb?” he mumbled.

“Wear yourself out a bit, huh?” Caleb asked, smirking.

“Ugh…” Bog moaned. “What…what happened?”

“What happened?” Caleb laughed. “You were there for the whole thing! All six hours of nonstop running through the woods like an energetic pup.”

Bog tried to sit up, but couldn’t seem to find the strength on his own.

“I don’t…I can’t…remember…” Bog said.

Caleb frowned.

“You don’t remember anything?” he asked.

“I remember…lights…colors...smells. I…”

Suddenly, his sat up straight.

“I killed something!” he cried, horrified.

“You didn’t,” Caleb assured him. “Though damned if you didn’t try. I spent all night knocking poor squirrels and rabbits out of your mouth. Do you really not remember?”

Bog rubbed his head, feeling a headache start to build behind his eyes.

“I…don’t know. It’s all…fuzzy. Too much to process.”

“Hmm…” Caleb hummed, sounding worried.

“Well, let’s get you back to the den. You’re going to be tired today, I think. Lord knows I will.”

Caleb helped Bog to his feet and they began the walk home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working my way backwards through this AU. This is the first time Bog shifts, after being in the magical world for about a month. Caleb is another werewolf that Bog met and that has been helping him get his bearings and adjust to his new life.  
> Also my motto for this AU is “don’t try hard at all, just write whatever slop you can churn out” so forgive the quality.  
> Sorry no Marianne in this one. The next one, I promise.


	4. Meeting

Marianne soared through the air in her bat form, whizzing past trees.  It was a while since she’d made use of her bat form. Roland had always discouraged her from using it, saying it was “uncouth”. Now it felt freeing to dart through the forest, gliding on drafts of warm night air.

She didn’t know this area, but she could smell the scent of werewolf in the air, which was comforting. Even on a full moon, a werewolf pack would most likely be welcoming to a traveling vampire.  

She’d been traveling on her own for a little over a year now. After discovering her ex-fiancé’s infidelity on the night of their wedding, she’d decided to leave home and see the world.

Marianne could feel the approaching dawn nagging at the edges of her mind. The sun would soon rise. The sun naturally a problem for vampires, whose flesh burned under direct exposure, but it was a problem easily remedied with thick, concealing clothing and a nice parasol. Still, she would have to change back to human form to make use of any of those things.  She was loath to leave her bat form, though. She so rarely used it.

Ears twitching, Marianne picked up the sound of paws running over earth and of excited yelping.

Werewolves? It sounded like one, but that was just it. It sounded like only one. It was very unusual for a wolf to be alone on the full moon.

Marianne fluttered to the ground. Maybe she could ask to stay the day in this werewolf’s den. She’d been traveling for nights without rest and it would do her good to stay in one place for a day or two.

The wolf came into view and Marianne chirped in greeting. There was no need to return to her human form. A werewolf would easily be able to smell the difference between a vampire and a normal bat.

The wolf stopped suddenly when it seemed to spot her and Marianne chirped again. The werewolf, however, did not respond to her greeting. It grew very still and stared intently at her with shockingly blue eyes. It was a large, brown wolf with remarkably long limbs, given its lean form.

Marianne blinked, confused, then chirped a third time when suddenly the werewolf bolted towards her. Before Marianne even had time to react, she found herself lifted off the ground. It took her a moment to realize that she was _in the wolf’s jaws._

She squealed and squirmed, shrieking loudly. How could the wolf possibly not realize what she was?

Could it be it didn’t care?

A werewolf attacking a vampire on sight? It was unheard of!

Enraged, Marianne burst into a cloud of mist. The wolf jumped in surprise, then snapped at the mist.

Marianne reformed behind the wolf and tackled it, forcing it into a headlock.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she demanded.

The wolf struggled for a moment, snarling, then suddenly relaxed. Its whole demeanor changed without warning to one of playful friendliness. It panted happily and its tail swished back and forth.

Surprised by the sudden change in attitude, Marianne released the wolf.

It turned to look at her, tail still wagging. With a playful bark, it jumped up onto Marianne and licked her face.

“Ugh!” Marianne cried, shoving it off. “What is _wrong_ with you?!”

Suddenly, another, golden wolf came running out of the trees. It yelped in surprise when it saw Marianne, and immediately ran between her and the first wolf, pushing the brown wolf away from her, barking loudly at it.

It turned and bowed to Marianne in an apologetic sort of way.

The first wolf casually walked around the golden wolf and back towards Marianne, rubbing against her legs, affectionately.

Again, the golden wolf barked and pushed the other away and again the larger wolf tried to get around it. Growling, the golden wolf forced the other to the ground, but the brown wolf seemed to take no offense. It just continued to stare at Marianne with an affectionate look, tail thumping against the ground.

Then, the brown wolf’s head lolled to the side, and its eyes went unfocused. Its head dropped to the ground and it seemed to lose consciousness.

The wolf’s form shivered and began to shrink. Limbs bent and popped back into human shape in a way that looked painful and fur receded until lying before Marianne was a young man with even more ridiculously elongated limbs than he’s had as a wolf.

The golden wolf Shifted back to human as well, though much more gracefully, into a towheaded man of similar age to the first.

“Thank the Gods,” the smaller man said. “I thought sun would never rise.”

The sun! Marianne had nearly forgotten!

She quickly pulled her parasol from out of her pack and extended it.

“I’m so sorry about him,” said the man, gesturing to his unconscious companion. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“He tried to _eat_ me in my bat form!” Marianne cried. “Then he _licked_ me! Without my permission, I might add! What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s…new,” the man said, shrugging sheepishly. “I’m Caleb, by the way.”

“Marianne,” Marianne returned, coldly, still distrusting of the pair of them. “What do you mean, ‘new’?”

“New to being a werewolf. He’s a Turny.”

Marianne blinked in surprise.

“A turned wolf?” she said. “I didn’t even think they existed.”

“Well, at least one does,” Caleb said. “It’s only his second Shift. He just gets a bit overwhelmed is all.”

It was at that moment that Marianne caught the unmistakable scent of blood in the air.

“You’re hurt!” she exclaimed, pointing at his arm, where a fresh looking wound dripped blood onto the ground.

“It’s nothing,” Caleb said quickly, covering the wound with his other hand.

“Those are teeth marks!” Marianne said. “He did that didn’t he?”

She fished a cloth from out of her pack and gave it to Caleb.

“It’s not his fault!” Caleb insisted, wrapping the wound in the cloth. “He’s really mostly harmless.”

“Mostly harmless? He tried to eat me!”

“He didn’t know what you were! He thought you were just a bat!”

“Well I’m not sure I’m comfortable with someone who goes around killing bats for fun, either.”

“He—”

Caleb was cut off by a groan from the man on the ground. Both he and Marianne turned to look at the man’s eyes blinked open.

“Bog, you’re awake!” Caleb said, kneeling down next to the man on the ground. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” Bog groaned.

“A what?” Marianne asked.

Bog started when he saw Marianne.

“Who are you?” he exclaimed.

“What do you mean, who am I? You tried to eat me not five minutes ago!” Marianne snapped.

“I _WHAT?!”_ Bog cried. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

He put his head in his hands.

“They’re right about me,” he moaned. “I’m too dangerous. Chasing small animals is one thing, attacking people is another.”

“You don’t…remember?” Marianne asked.

“He doesn’t remember anything from when he Shifts,” Caleb explained. “Or, very little. And, if it makes you feel any better, she was a small animal when you tried to eat her.”

“What?” Bog said.

“She’s a vampire. She was in bat form when you took a snap at her. You just thought she was a bat.”

“A vampire?!” Bog cried. “Oh, of course vampires would be real. I haven’t rekindled some ancient blood feud or something have I?”

“Blood feud?” Marianne asked.

“Aren’t werewolves and vampires ancient, mortal enemies or something?” Bog asked.

At that, Caleb burst out laughing.

“Mortal enemies? Vampires and werewolves?” he laughed. “Where in the world would you get an idea like that? There are no closer friends than werewolves and vampires!”

“Friends? Really?” Bog asked.

“How could you not know that?” Marianne said. “You’re new to being a werewolf, not new to the planet.”

“You’d be surprised…” Bog said.

“What does that mean?”

“You should come back to our den with us,” Caleb suggested. “We can make up for this…rude introduction with a bit of werewolf hospitality, and I can explain everything on the way.”

Marianne narrowed her eyes. Asking to go back to their den had been her plan, but she was wary of this turned wolf. In the end, her curiosity over him and her need for rest outweighed her wariness and she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after “Shift” but before “Fetch”. Bog and Marianne meet for the first time. The quality of these is rapidly decreasing.


End file.
